


Enter Astoria, With Her Hair About Her Ears

by nomsy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Death, F/F, F/M, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 22:33:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8508091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomsy/pseuds/nomsy
Summary: Astoria isn't a saint. She's a Slytherin.





	

Astoria is a Slytherin, make no mistake.

She’s just fine with it.

 

She never goes to any of the – well, she’s not entirely sure what to call them. Matchmaking parties organised by parents who are afraid the other children at Hogwarts will ruin their own offspring’s pure-blooded marriage ambitions.

Daphne always has to go, and she always comes back in a bad mood, having fought with the other children.

Astoria doesn’t want to go, but she wishes she could say so. Instead, her parents never even bring it up, until one day when she’s seven.

“I don’t want to go!” Daphne is bawling. “I hate it! I don’t want to get married, ever!”

“Daphne, just go and make friends,” their mother pleads. “Pansy and Millicent’s mothers have told me you haven’t been mixing well with the others.”

“I’m not going,” Daphne insists. “Padma and Parvati are hardly ever there, and Astoria doesn’t have to go at all.”

“Astoria isn’t well enough,” their mother says.

Astoria doesn’t think at that time that her mother just wants to prevent everybody from seeing her, pale, bony, horribly skinny Astoria, and concluding that, even if Daphne isn’t showing it, she’s got the Greengrass curse as well. It’d ruin her prospects.

But even at seven years, Astoria wonders whether maybe she wouldn’t always be unwell if everybody didn’t keep telling her so.

 

On her second day at Hogwarts, she sits in the common room and she can name all the people sitting around Daphne. _Davies, Parkinson, Nott, Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy, Bulstrode_. She can name their parents and their parents’ parents and how pure-blooded they are, exactly. Her lessons – later she’ll realise it was indoctrination – have paid off. Her parents would be proud.

She’s only eleven, but she can tell that Daphne is popular with the other students. She can also tell that Daphne is uncomfortable in their midst.

Astoria likes Hogwarts, even though she doesn’t have any friends. People don’t see her – their glances pass over her without noticing her in the slightest. It suits her well enough. Some nights, though, she cries under her covers while her dorm mates are asleep. On those nights, she wishes she was as beautiful as Daphne. Astoria is very aware that she picked the shorter straw in the Greengrass’ genetic lottery, because Daphne is the smart one, the pretty one, and the charming one.

She doesn’t do too badly in any of her subjects, but she doesn’t excel anywhere. However, she realises something growing up: She’s sneaky. Sly, or cunning, the Hat calls it in its songs. Astoria calls it sneaky. This is where being average comes in handy – no one takes notice of her cheating on assignments, copying people’s homework, stealing her housemates’ sweets. Astoria knows she shouldn’t do any of those things, but she’s so good at it, and she doesn’t want to waste her talent. She doesn’t tell Daphne, though.

 

“You’ll get used to it,” Daphne says. “They’re not too bad, really.”

Astoria narrows her eyes. “But you don’t like them.”

They don’t usually talk about their housemates, but Daphne’s noticed that Astoria hardly ever talks to anyone.

“I – I do get along – that’s not the point, Astoria. I talk to people. I have friends.”

“Friends you don’t like.”

Daphne sighs. “You could talk to people in other houses. You could talk to the Ravenclaws, they’re all –“

“Boring,” Astoria finishes.

Daphne sighs. “Or Hufflepuffs.”

Astoria snorts.

Daphne wisely doesn’t even bother suggesting Gryffindors.

She leans forward and lowers her voice. “They don’t all have to be purebloods, Astoria.”

Astoria looks up at her older sister in surprise. “What?”

“Just, don’t tell Mother and Father. But you can make friends with whoever you want to. I won’t tell. You’re braver than I am.” _Could go a number of ways_ , she remembers the Sorting Hat telling her.

Astoria grimaces. “Well, I don’t want to,” she says, purebloods or not.

 

Astoria doesn’t have a problem with Harry Potter, or Ron Weasley. She doesn’t even have a problem with Hermione Granger. She’s never had much of an interest in all that blood stuff, and she doesn’t care about Muggles either way – live and let live. Despite all of that, she’s glad she’s a pureblood, a Slytherin, a Greengrass. It opens doors.

She only really starts seeing all of that in a different light once she’s twelve. She doesn’t go to the Quidditch World Cup – she likes playing Quidditch, not watching it, after all – but she hears about it, and reads about it, and she will always remember waiting at home with her parents, worried about Daphne, and feeling nothing but contempt for the Death Eaters. She’s good at feeling contempt.

Her whole world view doesn’t change right there and then – it’ll take much more drastic things for that to happen – but it starts to.

 

In her third year, she gets together with her first boyfriend. Some people, like her mother, say that one never forgets their first boyfriend, but Astoria does, and rather quickly at that. What she remembers is that she doesn’t care for kissing very much.

 

The summer before fourth year, she steals money for the first time. It’s not like she needs to, but she’s been so bored during the holidays. She’s spent most of her time in bed, feeling too ill to get up, and still trying, until Daphne and her parents relent and let her come to Diagon Alley for a change of scenery. She pulls a lady’s purse out of her pocket outside Flourish and Blott’s. It’s unbelievably easy, and she buys herself some ice cream. She doesn’t like that Fortescue’s isn’t open anymore, and that Diagon Alley is depressing, except for Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, which is really fun until they run into Padma Patil.

Astoria and Daphne grew up with the Patil twins, because Daphne doesn’t get on with Pansy and Millicent. They spent all their holidays together until Daphne’s first year, when Parvati started hanging out with Gryffindors. Padma stuck around until Astoria herself started Hogwarts. Ever since then, Astoria’s been holding a grudge against Padma because of how much Daphne cried when she stopped visiting. Astoria is pretty good at holding grudges.

Daphne freezes on the spot. Astoria scowls. Her first day out in weeks and they run into Padma Patil of all people.

“Hey, Daphne,” Padma says, barely audible over the store’s general buzz.

“Padma,” Daphne says.

Astoria decides to go find her parents. She just sees Padma taking Daphne’s hand and Daphne not pulling away before she joins her father in admiring the pygmy puffs.

Padma visits them after Christmas, and Astoria and Daphne have their first proper fight in years.

“Astoria, you can’t hate people forever,” Daphne says.

“I can,” Astoria says. “Especially if they were mean to you!”

“Astoria, that’s so sweet of you, but don’t you think I can make my own decisions?”

“Not if they’re this stupid,” Astoria says. “Don’t you know who she’s friends with at school? That whole resistance-like group who got into all that trouble with Umbridge last year –“

Daphne turns white. “Don’t think I don’t know that. I thought you didn’t have a problem with any of them?”

“I don’t, but other people do, and I think it’s better to keep our heads down at a time like this.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want to,” Daphne says loudly. “Maybe I want to fight with them –“

“You’re supposed to be the smart one,” Astoria says bitingly. She remembers Daphne telling her that having friends in other houses was okay when she first came to Hogwarts, but she never thought that Daphne would actually consider it, much less concerning _those_ people, who mean nothing but trouble.

Daphne starts to cry. Astoria groans inwardly. She hates it when people cry.

“You don’t understand,” Daphne sobs.

“I really don’t,” Astoria says, and leaves the room.

Of course, she understands a little better after she catches Daphne and Padma snogging in the attic four days after. They don’t see her, and Astoria leaves silently. She’s good at sneaking, after all.

 

Her fourth year goes fine until Professor McGonagall catches her trying to steal another girl’s bracelet out of her bag during Transfiguration. The professor doesn’t do anything besides raise her eyebrows at Astoria and tell her to stay after class.

It’s funny, Astoria thinks, how she’s not even afraid. That’s the first time she suspects that maybe there’s something wrong with her, but she doesn’t have time to dwell on it then.

“Miss Greengrass, you were trying to steal your classmate’s bracelet,” Professor McGonagall says. It’s not a question, so Astoria doesn’t say anything in reply.

“You know this is a very serious misbehaviour,” she continues. “You could be expelled.”

Astoria still doesn’t say anything.

“Give me a reason, Miss Greengrass, to let you stay in Hogwarts and get away with detention.”

“My sister,” Astoria says. Everyone likes Daphne, even the head of Gryffindor house. “She’ll be so disappointed.” It’s not even a lie. Astoria imagines Daphne finding out about all this, how ashamed she’d be. This is regret, she realises. She doesn’t particularly like the feeling.

“Detention every Saturday for the next two months,” Professor McGonagall says. “If anything like this happens again, I think you’ll know what he consequences will be.”

Astoria nods. She doesn’t steal again, but she still likes sneaking around, knowing that she could if she wanted to.

 

She doesn’t cry at Dumbledore’s funeral, so afterwards she finds Daphne for a talk.

“I think there’s something wrong with me,” she says, and confides in her sister about not having cried, and feeling like she’ll never love anyone (except Daphne, of course), and wishing everybody would just go away.

Daphne hugs her and doesn’t say anything for a while.

“I think you’re great exactly the way you are, Astoria,” she says. “And I wouldn’t trade you for anyone.”

Astoria finds herself believing Daphne despite herself. “Thank you,” she says.

“Next year is going to be terrible,” Daphne says suddenly. “Do you ever think we should fight against You-Know-Who?”

“No,” Astoria says. She’s a Slytherin, and she won’t risk her life for a cause, no matter how noble and righteous.

 

The journey on the Hogwarts Express in Astoria’s fifth year isn’t fun, right from the beginning. She’s been ill during most of the holidays and she’s still not feeling well, so all she wants to do is sit down in an empty compartment and rest for a little while.

“Come on,” Blaise Zabini, who’s an arsehole, says to Daphne. “Please, Daphy.”

Daphne cringes. A disdain for nicknames is one of the things Astoria and Daphne have in common.

“Come on,” Zabini says again. “Why’d you want to sit with this girl anyway? You’re so much hotter.”

Astoria doesn’t feel anything, but she knows she should be offended, so she scowls at him.

“That’s my little sister,” Daphne says frostily.

Astoria knows people don’t notice her, but this is a little ridiculous. This is her fifth year in Hogwarts. Zabini should know who she is in relation to Daphne at least.

“Your little sister? Her? But – isn’t she – I mean, the curse –“

Daphne takes Astoria’s arm and pulls her along without another word.

They end up sitting with Padma, who’s obviously cried. She throws herself into Daphne’s arms as soon as they enter her compartment.

Astoria takes out a book she doesn’t like and pretends to read it while listening to Padma tell Daphne about the fight she’s had with her twin sister who apparently accused her of being a traitor for being in love with a Slytherin.

“Uh,” Daphne says, looking at Astoria.

“I know,” Astoria says from behind her book, and that’s that.

 “But I have to fight them, I have to,” Padma says in reference to the Death Eaters. “Can you understand that?”

“I can,” Daphne says. “But you can understand that I can’t join you, can’t you?” Daphne looks at Astoria again, and Astoria knows her sister is doing this for her, to protect her.

“I can,” Padma says. “Of course I can.”

“I’ll go look for my friends,” Astoria says, leaving the compartment.

Of course, having no friends, she spends most of the train ride pacing the train and sitting on the floor. This year is going to suck, she knows.

 

It has sucked, and very much so at that. But, Astoria thinks as she hurries up the stairs with her housemates, it must surely be over now. It’ll be decided tonight, no matter how it ends. She has no intention of being near Hogwarts when that happens.

Daphne is stumbling along next to Astoria, sobbing.

“Daphne, it’s alright,” Astoria says, trying to sound calm.

Daphne shakes her head. “She’s going to stay, I know it. I can feel it.”

“Oh,” Astoria says. Undoubtedly Daphne is right and Padma is going to stay. “She’ll be fine,” is all Astoria can think to say. She hates moments like these – when Daphne cries and suddenly Astoria has to act as though she’s the older one.

Daphne turns to face her. “Be careful, Astoria,” she says. Then she’s weaving through the crowd, back to where the fight will start within the hour. Astoria calls after her, but a seventh-year Hufflepuff runs her over and she falls. When she gets up again, she’s surrounded by little Gryffindors and Daphne isn’t anywhere to be seen.

“Move along, please,” a prefect says. Astoria doesn’t obey, instead she presses her back against the wall and lets people pass her. No one even looks at her, and she’s good at being sneaky, so she makes her way back along the wall until she can slip into a secret corridor behind a tapestry.

 

It feels like hours later, but she can’t be certain. Maybe it has only been minutes. She doesn’t have a watch or a clock or anything, only the nightgown she is wearing and her wand. No shoes, the floor is cold and dirty. There is noise everywhere. She’s somewhere near the Great Hall now. She checks around the next corner and nearly runs into Daphne and Padma.

“Astoria, no,” Daphne moans. “What are you doing here?”

“I was looking for –“

Voices and steps near and Daphne shoves Astoria into a broom cupboard and slams the door shut.

“Daphne!” Astoria yells, reaching out to push open the door, but someone holds her back and clamps a hand over her mouth.

“ _Lux_ ,” the other person says, and points the light at Astoria’s face. She’s never spoken to Draco Malfoy, hasn’t ever been close to him despite them being in the same house. But she is a pureblood and a Slytherin and a Greengrass and she’d know the pale, thin face of a Malfoy anywhere.

“Don’t get out,” Draco whispers. Astoria can’t be entirely certain in the weak light of his wand, but his face looks bloody. “They’ll find us.”

Astoria can hear shouting and spells from outside. Daphne’s in danger.

“I have to,” she says, going for the door again, but Malfoy puts her into a ridiculously ineffective chokehold. “Who’s out there that you have to look for?”

“Daphne,” she snarls. Speaking is easy despite his arms round her neck, proving that Draco Malfoy is an incapable little sissy who ought to be at home right now.

“Daphne Greengrass? Who’re you?”

“I’m Astoria Greengrass, and I’m going now.” She bites him.

She expected him to let her go, but not to sink to his knees with a suppressed shout, tears in his eyes.

“Merlin,” she says. “I know all Malfoys are wusses, you needn’t prove it.” Then her eyes fall to his right hand clutching the inside of his left forearm where she’s bitten him. She narrows her eyes. “Ah, right,” she sneers. “Typical. You join the Death Eaters but as soon as it comes to fighting, you hide in a cupb–“

There’s some sort of noise, a curse she doesn’t know, an explosion or something and Malfoy yells “ _Protego_!” before it hits their cupboard, shattering the door. There’s a high-pitched wail and Padma clutching a body on the floor. Blonde curls. A light-blue dressing gown. Daphne.

Time doesn’t stop. Astoria doesn’t faint. She realises right then that she’ll forever be the girl that stood looking at her own sister’s dead body and only thought of getting out of here, not even shedding a tear.

 

Somehow, Astoria has always pictured being a witness in court as rather exciting, but it’s not. Mostly she waits and tries not to think about that night, the battle, Daphne cold and motionless. It’s been months – the courts are also, apparently, pretty slow in addition to being boring – and she’s been working on getting better. Her parents try to help but it doesn’t feel genuine. It feels as though they don’t care, as though Astoria is the only person in the world who even notices Daphne’s dead, who misses her.

She’ll have to go back to Hogwarts. She doesn’t want to, but she wants to stay at home even less. She doesn’t want to do anything, really –

Someone calls her name and she gets up automatically. She walks to the middle of the room where the other witnesses went. Malfoy is sitting in a chair, his back very straight. His face is pale and he has dark rings under his eyes. She can’t help but throw him a triumphant smile. If it were up to her, he’d be rotting in Azkaban right now, but sadly, it’s not.

“Miss Greengrass,” the woman who leads the whole affair says after having confirmed Astoria’s personal information and all kinds of useless things. “Mr Malfoy asked us to call you as a witness, because he claims to have saved your life in the night of the 1st May this year during the Battle of Hogwarts. Is that correct?”

Astoria hesitates. The woman notices. “Please take us through how it happened.”

“I went to look for my sister,” she starts. “Near the Great Hall. I wanted to go home, but she had gone back, so I went after her to get her. I ran into her but people were following her and her girlfriend – that’s Padma Patil – and she shoved me in a broom cupboard. Malfoy was in it already and held me back from going back out.” She feels the strange urge to laugh. Astoria, locked in a broom cupboard with a boy. Not something anyone had ever thought was going to happen. “I wanted to go anyway so I bit him and he fell to the floor. I said, I know all Malfoys are wusses, but you don’t have to prove it right now, or something like that, but then I realised where I’d bit him –“ She touches her left forearm to let them know. “ – and that he was a Death Eater. I was angry because I don’t like them, so I told him it was typical he was hiding out in a broom cupboard while other people were fighting. And there was a noise outside and a curse and he put a _Protego_ on us. The door broke and we went out and my sister was dead. I’m not sure what happened after, but I think there were people – grown-ups who came and fought the Death Eaters and took me away.”

It’s very silent in the courtroom. No one says anything. Astoria doesn’t like it. “That’s the end,” she says impatiently.

“Thank you, Miss Greengrass,” the woman says. “So if Mr Malfoy hadn’t cast the _Protego_ spell, you would have been injured?”

“Yes,” Astoria says. “I would have died, I guess.”

“So he saved your life?”

“I suppose he did.”

“You don’t sound grateful,” the woman notes.

“I’m not,” Astoria says. “I didn’t ask him to, and I don’t need any little Death Eaters saving my life so they can use me in court to get out of punishment.”

Someone in the back of the courtroom coughs and a few people whisper to each other like children in History of Magic instead of adults in a serious court case.

“Do you think Mr Malfoy could have saved himself without protecting you as well?”

No, Astoria thinks. Well, he could have cast the spell for just himself, but she doubts he had any presence of mind to think about whether he was saving her life or not. He cast his spell and it was a reflex and he saved her by accident.

Astoria looks over at Draco Malfoy. He seems strange – afraid. The look in his eyes is almost pleading.

She sighs inwardly. Great. So now she’s some kind of do-gooder who does stuff for other people. “Yes,” she says without enthusiasm. “He could have. But he saved my life.”

“Thank you, Miss Greengrass,” the woman says once more. She throws Astoria a sharp look, but that’s all.

Astoria nods. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Draco Malfoy exhale in relief. Doubtlessly he’ll need more help if he wants to get out of spending some time in Azkaban, but she’s heard that Harry Potter has spoken in his favour. She wonders whether Harry Potter doesn’t have better things to do with his time, but it’s not her business.

She doesn’t care what happens next, and she goes home as soon as they let her.

 

Hogwarts is like a haunted house. Everybody is quiet, no one laughs, the dead are present everywhere. There’s some first-years who are happy and carefree, but there’s few of them and they generally shut up quickly once they notice no one else is being loud.

Astoria hasn’t ever been particularly dumb, but now her mind feels sluggish, won’t work, won’t think. She fails most of her work, but the teachers go easy on her. The teachers go easy on everybody now.

After Christmas, Astoria decides she can’t bear it any longer. She tells her parents she’s dropping out. At this stage, there’s no use even aiming for her NEWTs in one-and-a-half years. She’s never felt less like a Slytherin, aimless, ambitionless, pathetic, but she knows that sometimes, you have to cut you losses. So she leaves.

Her parents don’t like it.

Astoria doesn’t care.

 

She gets a job as a salesgirl in Quality Quidditch Supplies. It’s nice enough, the pay is alright, and her colleagues are friendly. No one bothers her, and at the end of the day she can go home to her tiny flat above Madame Malkins’ that she pays a fortune for. Her parents support her grudgingly, but they do it, if only for the sake of appearing more caring than they are.

 

It’s April. She’s strolling through Diagon Alley, looking in shop windows. She likes doing that after work. She needs a new pair of robes, but she doesn’t have enough money left this month.

“Astoria Greengrass?” a voice asks from behind her, and Astoria turns around, infinitely surprised that someone would recognize her, let alone start a conversation with her.

It’s Draco Malfoy.

“Hello,” she says unhappily.

“Yes, hello,” he says. He doesn’t seem all that interesting.

“You got out of going to Azkaban, then,” she says. She vaguely recalls reading an article in the _Prophet_ expressing indignation at the fact.

“Oh, yes. Yes. Thank you for that.”

“I don’t think I had much to do with it.”

“Still. You didn’t have to lie for me.”

“No,” she agrees.

“So – uh,” he says. “Why did you?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Astoria says. She’s getting impatient. Her tortoise at home needs feeding. Her windows need cleaning. She wants dinner. She wants anything but to stand in the middle of Diagon Alley talking to him.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“I don’t drink,” Astoria lies, because she doesn’t want to go for a drink with Draco Malfoy.

“Oh,” he says. “I see. Alright.”

“Goodbye,” Astoria says decidedly.

 

It’s been a year since Daphne died. There’s some big ceremony to commemorate the battle at Hogwarts, and her parents make her go.

To be honest, she makes herself go, for Daphne. Daphne would have gone if Astoria had died. Though Daphne wouldn’t have let Astoria die, so it’s mostly a moot point.

She’s got a glass of fire whiskey, no one caring that she’s not seventeen, and she’s sipping it in the park outside. It’s getting cold as night begins to fall.

Astoria snorts. She feels like she’s in an old painting with her proper dress, only she’s not beautiful enough. It doesn’t really matter. She’s good enough for herself, at least regarding her looks, who cares what other people think.

She _wishes_ she could stop caring.

She takes another sip of her fire whiskey. It burns her throat, makes her warmer and dizzier. She’s not supposed to drink, according to the healers. Sometimes, she suspects that they merely make stuff up to make her think they know what they’re doing. Don’t drink. Don’t run. Don’t play sports. Don’t sleep too little.

“I thought you didn’t drink.”

“Malfoy,” she says, not turning around. He stands next to her awkwardly. It can’t have been a pleasant evening for him, as a Death Eater. Former Death Eater. Astoria isn’t sure whether there’s a difference. She doesn’t know if she can believe _once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin_ but not _once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater_. She doesn’t know if people change.

“I do drink,” she says. “Just not with you. And this,” She points at her fire whiskey, “Is illegal. I’m sixteen.”

“I know,” he says.

She’s surprised that he does. She would have expected him to have forgot about her by now, instead of finding out more.

“You’re not at Hogwarts anymore,” he continues.

“I work,” she says. “At Quality Quidditch Supplies.” And before he can say anything, “I would have been good on the Slytherin team, but you guys were all… guys.” Not that her parents or the healers or even Daphne would have let her try out.

“Yes,” he says. Astoria vaguely wonders whether he shouldn’t be sounding a little more apologetic.

She empties her glass. “Anyway,” she says, handing it to him. “I’m going home. I’d like to say see you soon, but I don’t hope so.”

“I’m sorry about your sister dying,” he says. “She was nice.”

Astoria freezes for a moment before walking to the castle without looking back.

 

She wishes Draco Malfoy weren’t following her around. Not really, of course, just in her mind.

Merlin’s beard, he’s not even good-looking.

Then again, neither is Astoria, really, though they might look good together, since he’s so fair and she’s got all dark hair…

She squeezes her eyes shut. She’s going to get fired if she doesn’t concentrate on her work.

If Draco could see her right now, she thinks, he would probably look down on her because she’s a shopgirl. That gives her a certain feeling of satisfaction – he’s a git, and she isn’t going to think about him anymore.

“Hey, Astoria,” one of her colleagues says. She’s called Sally-Anne, Astoria recalls. “Do you want to go to the Leaky Cauldron with us after work?”

Astoria looks up in surprise. She’s worked here for a while now, and no one’s ever asked her to come along to anything. Though to be fair, she’s not exactly sociable and encouraging people to ask her on outings.

“Okay,” she says, nodding. She tells herself to get a grip and adds, “Thanks for inviting me.”

 

The Leaky Cauldron is nice, cosy and homey. Astoria hasn’t been out in – well, forever. Not since Hogsmeade weekends.

She only gets a butterbeer this time. Not because she cares about her health, but because she doesn’t want to get tipsy in front of her co-workers. The others are all a little older than her, but friendly and chatty.

“I knew your sister,” Sally-Anne suddenly says while the others are talking about whether the Harpies or Pride of Portree are the better team.

Astoria stares at Sally-Anne.

“I liked her, I was in her year before I dropped out of Hogwarts,” she says.

“Okay,” Astoria says.

“You are a lot like her,” Sally-Anne says.

Astoria snorts. “Right,” she mutters. “Daphne was pretty.”

Sally-Anne shrugs. “You’re clever and sort of – guile, I suppose. We can’t all be pretty,” she says.

Astoria looks up. No one’s ever been this direct with her. People always say that she’s ‘got something about her’ or is ‘growing into her looks’ and maybe she is, but no one’s ever told her to her face that she’s just not pretty in the conventional sense.

“And you look nice enough,” Sally-Anne continues. “You’ve got good hair and big eyes and everything, so chin up, alright? You’re just bony and pale, but, come on.”

“Alright,” Astoria says. Clever and sort of guile. That’s not too bad.

She may not like Sally-Anne better after this, but she’s certainly got more respect for her.

 

On her seventeenth birthday, Draco Malfoy sends her a card.

Astoria doesn’t open it.

 

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a bit moody?” Sally-Anne asks one day when they’re out having lunch.

“Yes,” Astoria says. “They have.”

“Just checking whether you knew.”

“Astoria!” someone suddenly calls. Astoria sighs. What is it with people talking to her in public lately? Isn’t she unnoticeable anymore?

She turns around and sees Padma, laden with shopping bags. Great.

“Hello Padma,” she says unenthusiastically. “How are you?”

“Fine, thank you,” Padma says. She looks at Sally-Anne. “Have we met? You seem sort of familiar.”

“Yeah,” Sally-Anne says. “At Hogwarts.”

“Sally-Anne Perks?” Padma asks with a gasp. “Merlin, I didn’t expect to see you ever again! How have you been?”

“Good, thanks,” Sally-Anne says. “Why don’t you…” She trails off, indicating a free chair at the table and looking at Astoria as if to check whether it’s okay.

Astoria doesn’t smile. But she doesn’t frown either. She just nods.

“Oh, thanks,” Padma says breathlessly, sitting down.

Sally-Anne smiles.

Astoria goes back to the shop. It seems to her like she’s turning into some kind of guardian angel, getting people out of prison and making matches. Well, kind of. Close enough. She’s not sure whether she likes it yet, so she decides to wait and see.

 

She takes up cigarettes on a whim. Muggle’s really do have their live-destroying drugs figured out, she thinks, taking a deep drag. She always smokes on her lunch break now instead of eating. She doesn’t tell anyone, but she doesn’t really bother to hide it, either. The healers would be disapproving, her parents angry. The only person who would have cared is Daphne, and Daphne’s dead.

 

“Oh, Astoria, you’re the best for introducing us,” Sally-Anne says about a month after they met Padma in Diagon Alley. “Really, thank you so much.”

“That’s fine,” Astoria says. She doesn’t know if it’s fine. Padma was in love with Daphne. Can she be in love with Sally-Anne now? Though, knowing Daphne, she would have wanted everyone to be happy and Padma to find a second love after her death.

“I should do something for you in return,” Sally-Anne says. “Is there anyone you’re interested in? I could set you up with this friend of mine…”

An image of Draco Malfoy flashes through Astoria’s mind. “I’m okay being single, thanks,” she says.

“Sure,” Sally-Anne says. “That’s why some guy was asking for you this morning.”

“What?” Astoria asks. “When?”

“You did that run picking up the order of keeper gloves, remember? And he came up and asked whether you were in. I told him you weren’t and he should come back later today or some other day this week.”

“What did he look like?”

“I don’t know, sort of like a wuss –“

“Blonde?”

“Yeah,” Sally-Anne grimaces. “I’m not really into blonde hair, you know…”

“Was it Malfoy?”

Sally-Anne snaps her fingers. “I knew I remembered him from somewhere. I thought he was a Death-Eater?”

“He was,” Astoria says curtly.

 

Draco does drop by again a couple of days later when Astoria is sorting through posters of the Chudley Cannons. They’ve gone on sale again – there’s no getting rid of them otherwise.

“Good morning,” Astoria says. “Can I help you?”

“Uh, yes.” He looks around the shop. “I’m looking for a present.”

“For who?” Astoria asks. She wonders briefly whether she should polish her grammar, but decides he isn’t worth it.

“My mother,” he says. “It’s her birthday soon.”

Astoria narrows her eyes at him. She’s never met Narcissa Malfoy in person, but she doesn’t seem like the kind of woman who’d like her only son’s birthday present to her to be something bought at Quality Quidditch Supplies. She frowns at him.

He visibly deflates straight away. “No, alright, that’s a lie,” he says.

“Really?” Astoria says. “’Cause I can offer you a poster of the Cannons for free if you buy _Quidditch Through the Ages_ and _Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland_ together.”

“Sounds like a good deal,” he says, his lips twitching. “Do you get a commission?”

“No,” Astoria says.

“Then no, sorry,” he says apologetically.

Astoria shrugs. She doesn’t much care.

“When do you have your lunch break?” he asks.

“Now, actually,” Sally-Anne says from behind Astoria, nudging her. “Go on.”

Astoria scowls, but walks out of the shop with Draco.

“So, where would you like to go?” he asks. “If you do want to go somewhere. You can just go wherever, and I can leave –“

“Anywhere,” she says. If she’s having her break early because of him, he might as well buy her lunch. “The Leaky Cauldron?”

“Right, okay,” he says, obviously uncomfortable.

“We can go somewhere else,” Astoria says. “Rosa Lee Teabag?”

“Well, yes…”

“There’s always the street vendors,” she says impatiently, even though she isn’t particularly keen on a lunch consisting of roasted chestnuts and pumpkin pasties.

“Oh,” he says.

Astoria huffs, looks around for any other place, and for the first time notices the dark glares Draco is getting from passers-by. Oh indeed, she thinks. “Or we could just go to a Muggle place,” she says quickly.

“Yes,” he says, obviously relieved. “Let’s.”

They find a café and sit down. Astoria orders a black coffee. She doesn’t eat much anymore, though she’s briefly tempted to get the most expensive thing on the menu and have him pay for it. Draco doesn’t get anything. It is kind of rude of him to let her have her coffee alone, she thinks. He also isn’t making conversation. Impolite. Well, she can do impolite, too.

“So, people don’t like you anymore,” she says.

“No,” he agrees. “Not that they liked me much before.”

“Pansy Parkinson’s always liked you.” It’s slipped out before Astoria knows it, and she immediately gets angry at herself.

He laughs – actually laughs, the git.

Astoria crosses her arms.

“Sorry,” he says. “It’s just – that was ages ago.”

Fine, Astoria thinks, good. It’s not like she cares.

“It’s okay,” he says. “That people look at me like that. I didn’t exactly – I wasn’t –“ He stops talking. Astoria’s glad. She doesn’t know if he feels any remorse, but she doesn’t want to hear it either way.

“I used to steal,” she blurts out. It’s not the same. Not anywhere near the same, of course, she knows, but, well. She doesn’t even know why she said that, but Draco looks slightly less ill-at-ease. Astoria figures that means it’s her turn to say something that is too serious for a first date.

“Why would you even want to have lunch with me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asks.

“I’m not nice, I’m not pretty,” Astoria says.

“Well, I know you’re not nice or pretty –“

“Thanks, how charming.”

“But you are – I don’t know. I really don’t.” He grins. It makes him look a lot nicer than his usual face, which is kind of scowly. “You’re terrible, actually. At school, in my third year, you once kicked Nott in the groin when he said you were too ugly to be a pureblood. Very unladylike. Terrible, was everyone’s judgement.” He doesn’t really sound like he finds it that terrible.

Astoria raises her chin and smiles. She’d forgot about that. “I always have been. And it’s not like you aren’t.” She gestures between the both of them. “Slytherins, you know?”

“I suppose,” he says. “This whole thing is probably a terribly bad idea.”

Astoria looks him in the eyes. “Could be terribly fun,” she tells him.

He’s still smiling.

She lights a cigarette when he walks her back to the shop and he looks surprised.

“I heard Muggle drugs can kill you,” he says.

She offers him the cigarette without a comment. He takes it just as silently, takes a drag after a moment’s deliberation, and coughs like he’s drowning.

“Wuss,” Astoria says.

“Terrible,” he chokes out, giving her back the cigarette.

 

Astoria is in a good mood and she feels like she can do anything, so she quits her job, just like that, and gets a better one at the _Daily Prophet_. It’s still not great, she’s only getting pumpkin juice and tea and notepads for the writers, but still. She’s a Slytherin, and she has her ambition, and she’s not going to be stuck in the same job all her life. She’s going to work for the _Prophet_ until they promote her or die trying – them or her, whoever caves first.

They’ll cave first, she’s sure.

She’s never felt so certain of anything – she can do this. She doesn’t have her OWLs or NEWTs, she doesn’t have experience, she doesn’t have anything going for her, but she can do it, and she’s going to.

 

Astoria’s sitting alone in a Muggle bar. It’s nice, she thinks, swaying in her seat to the music. She’s drunk. But she’s eighteen, so it’s fine. Muggle-legally-drunk. She sighs and sways a bit more. She’s definitely not drinking because she wishes she’d snagged Draco Malfoy. She doesn’t even like him. But he hasn’t bothered to get in touch with her, and it’s hurting her pride.

It’s a Wednesday, so tomorrow’s going to be awful, but she’s only getting tea for her boss anyway, so she’ll be fine.

“I hate my job,” she says to herself.

“Oh really?” a guy says from beside her. “What do you do?”

“Sod off,” Astoria says.

He sods off.

The bartender shoots her a look. “You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Astoria says cheerily. This is going to be fun. It’ll turn into some deep meaningful talk between her and the bartender, and then she’ll have an epiphany and figure herself out.

“Closing time, get out,” the bartender says.

“You suck,” Astoria says. She gets out and goes home and goes to sleep, arms wrapped around a bucket in case she has to vomit.

 

She runs into Draco in Diagon Alley, where else.

“Hey,” she says, momentarily surprised at herself for talking to him.

“Astoria,” he says. “I haven’t seen you in nearly a year, have I?”

“Guess not,” Astoria says. It’s not like he’s made an effort to see her, though. She reaches into her pocket and feels the packet of cigarettes she stole earlier. It’s her first relapse since school, and she feels sort of numb – not because she regrets it, but because she knows she’ll start again and she’s really too old for that now. But it’s sometimes too convenient not to just quickly take something. She suddenly, bizarrely wonders whether Draco would be pissed if he knew she is a thief, whether he’d think it a bad thing. Not that he can talk, she thinks, but still –

“You’re not at Quality Quidditch Supplies anymore.” His words startle her and make her lose her train of thought. It’s not one she’s sad to have lost, though, so it’s really alright.

“No. I work for the _Prophet_ now.”

“That’s great,” he says.

“Not really, it mostly sucks,” she says. “What do you even do?”

“I, uh, don’t,” he says, uncomfortable.

“I see.” Astoria lifts her chin.

“You’re not impressed,” he says.

“No,” she agrees.

“They wouldn’t hire me anywhere even if I had to work,” he says.

That’s true, Astoria supposes.

“What do you do all day, then?” she asks.

“I read a lot,” he says.

Astoria stares at him silently for a moment. Then she laughs. After another second, Draco joins in. She can’t believe it – she hasn’t laughed in years, and now she does, in Diagon Alley, with Draco Malfoy.

“Merlin,” she says.

“Are you free some time this week?” He asks.

Astoria folds her arms. “You didn’t even try to see me in like a year.”

“You didn’t try to see me in a year, either.”

“True,” Astoria says, nodding. “I’ll see you Friday night for dinner?”

“Sure,” he says.

He half-smiles at her and leaves. Astoria lights herself one of her stolen cigarettes and feels like this year is going to better than the last.

 

“And then,” Astoria says, “He slaps the scroll on my desk, says he wants it proof-read in half an hour, and leaves. So I read it, and give it back to him, and he makes this face.” Astoria grimaces in an imitation of her boss.

“That’s good, though, isn’t it?” Draco asks. “You’ll get a promotion or something.”

Astoria shrugs. “I don’t even have my OWLs,” she says. “We’ll see.”

“You are a Slytherin,” he says, smiling.

Astoria raises her glass in a toast and leans back in her chair. “So,” she says, dragging the word out. “What now?”

“What now?” he repeats.

“Do we see each other again?”

“We always seem to,” he says.

She nods and shoots him a smile. “Good point.”

“You look nice when you smile,” he says. “I mean, not only when you smile, obviously –“

“Yeah,” Astoria waves him off, but she is pleased.

 

She doesn’t get a promotion, her boss just makes her check his spelling every day because, in his words, she’s better than nothing.

Astoria chews on her quill. She misses Daphne, she thinks. It knocks the breath out of her lungs – it’s always like this. She thinks of Daphne and can’t breathe with how much she misses her. How much she’s never told her sister – about the Hat nearly Sorting her into the wrong house, about how she wishes she was prettier, about her classes and what she wants to do and what she thought of Daphne’s favourite dress. Daphne just never was able to work red, as much as Astoria feels sorry for thinking it.

She rubs her eyes. She wants to go home and curl up on her sofa under her new soft blanket and go to sleep, but she doesn’t.

 

It’s an office party. Astoria never knew how boring those were before now.

At least it’s boring until she runs into Draco.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, surprised.

He shrugs. “I just –“

“Did you sneak in here?” she asks. “Why would you do that? This party is horrible.”

“I wasn’t really –“

“You came to see me, didn’t you?”

“Maybe,” he says quietly.

“That’s slightly creepy,” Astoria says happily. “We should get out of here.”

They do sneak out into Diagon Alley – Draco needs to learn a thing or two about being sneaky. They stop at Fortescue’s for ice cream. It’s not really Fortescue’s anymore, Astoria supposes, since it’s been taken on by someone else, but it’s better than nothing.

“I was there,” Draco says.

“Huh?” Astoria asks.

“When they killed him.”

She wonders whether ‘they’ was You-Know-Who. She also doesn’t have any idea what to say now.

“Sorry,” Draco says after an excruciating silence. “I’ve never told anyone – anything.”

About when I was a Death Eater, he doesn’t say. Astoria sighs. “You’re in love with me, aren’t you?”

“I think so,” he says.

“Good to know,” she says, kissing him.

 

“Greengrass!” her boss yells. He’s stressed, even more so than usual, because the _Prophet_ has finally been starting to weed out every corrupt and unethical journalist – which is most of them, so everyone has to work longer hours and help out to make everything work.

Astoria looks up from the pumpkin juice she’s pouring. “Yes?”

“How did you do in essays at school?”

“Okay, why?”

He hands her a scroll. “Write a report on yesterday’s match between the Cannons and Puddlemere, will you?”

“Yeah,” Astoria says. She knows better than to remind him she’s not qualified. He’s aware of that and clearly missing several journalists, so she might as well write the article.

 

“Congratulations,” Draco says. “Your first published article.”

“It was not good. I’m not made for writing, clearly.”

“Oh,” he says. He’s kind of cute when he doesn’t know what to say. Astoria remembers that when she was kissing him, it was a lot nicer than back when she was thirteen.

“But they did promote me to Sports, so I guess I’ll just have to practise and eventually I’ll be fine.”

“Yes, definitely,” he says distractedly.

“We could kiss again, you know,” Astoria says, crossing her arms. She hates emotional situations like this. Though she knows that he does, too, so it’s alright.

 

She runs into Pansy Parkinson one day.

“You’re Astoria Greengrass, aren’t you?” Pansy asks her. “Daphne’s little sister? With the curse?”

Astoria nods and shoots her a smile, showing her teeth.

“I hear you’re dating Draco now,” Pansy says.

“What if I am?” Astoria asks.

Pansy shrugs. “It’s nice, is all,” she says. “I’m glad. He’s been having a rough time.”

Astoria narrows her eyes, wondering if this is some kind of trap.

“I’m serious,” Pansy says. “You know, I love Draco, but I don’t love him anymore.”

That’s good enough, Astoria thinks.

So apparently, she’s made friends with Pansy Parkinson now. She’s becoming a real social butterfly.

 

“I ran into Pansy Parkinson the other day,” she says when she’s meeting Draco for dinner a few days later. “She said she loves you, but she doesn’t love you anymore.”

“I see,” he says, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Pansy was never the brightest wand in the wizarding world.”

Astoria shrugs. “She seemed nice enough.”

“I suppose she is,” Draco says, frowning slightly. “It’s just strange. First relationships aren’t really – a great memory.”

“I don’t remember who I first dated,” Astoria says. “I remember I didn’t like kissing.”

“Oh,” he says.

“It’s growing on me,” she adds, smirking.

He smiles. “Good to know,” he says.

Astoria looks around the restaurant. “This is a nice place,” she says.

He shrugs. “The food is nice, I thought,” he says. Then, more quietly, “They do some things better.”

“Cigarettes?” Astoria asks, smirking.

He shakes his head, looking disgusted. “Did you know all this? That they have electricity and telephones and everything?” He gestures to a man talking on a telephone that doesn’t have a cord attached to it two tables away. Astoria thinks it’s quite rude, and the other man opposite looks horribly bored, but it must be a very convenient device.

“I did,” Astoria says. “Daphne did Muggle Studies.”

“Maybe everyone should,” he says. His voice is hushed, as if he’s afraid that he’s going to get yelled at for saying something a blood-traitor would think. “It would prevent a lot of –“

“Bigotry.”

“Yes.”

“Astoria, I regret it. All of what I –“

She raises a hand to shut him up. “I know,” she says. “I know that, it hasn’t been an issue in ages.” So she’s exaggerating a bit, and covering up her relief that he does seem to have changed his mind, so what?

And that’s the first time it hits her that she will love him eventually. Not yet, it hasn’t been long enough, but she will. That’s a bit of a strange feeling, but she’s also kind of looking forward to it. She doesn’t really remember the last time she looked forward to something. It’s nice.

When they’re walking home, Astoria feels suddenly dizzy. That happens a lot when she forgets to take her potions, but there’s so many, and she sometimes can’t be bothered with them. She knows it’s stupid and her own fault, but mostly she doesn’t care. But now, she wishes she’d taken them this morning, because she doesn’t want to ruin tonight by fainting or something.

“Astoria?” Draco asks, half-catching her. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she says, trying to make her voice sound steady. “Yes, I must have drank too much –“

“You only had water,” he says.

“Eaten too much,” she says. Smoked too much would have been more plausible, but she hasn’t smoked at all today, because she knows he doesn’t like how it tastes when he kisses her. Though maybe that’s it. She just needs a cigarette, she’ll be fine. It’s nothing. She hasn’t been ill in so long, she doesn’t want to start again.

“Really,” she says. “I had lots of pudding.” Which also isn’t actually true.

He looks at her strangely. He must be thinking of the curse. Other old families – like the Malfoys – gossip about it, Astoria knows.

“I’m fine,” she says.

“I’ll walk you home,” he says, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

That makes her feel a lot better somehow. She grimaces. Great.

 

They’ve sorted out to meet again a week later for dinner, again, because somehow she likes seeing him and he seems to like seeing her.

Anyway, that’s why she doesn’t expect to bump into him before that, especially not at the ministry. She’s only there to put in a complaint about her tax return not being processed quickly enough and to threaten them with a revealing article in the _Prophet_. Not that the _Prophet_ would ever print it, but she’s running out of money to buy cigarettes with, and mead, and all the other things that are bad for her, so she needs every knut she can get back, and as soon as possible.

“Astoria,” he calls as she steps into the atrium on her way back. She turns around and looks at him. She manages not to smile.

“Hello,” she says. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, just – sorting out some things.”

“Somebody sue you for being a Death Eater?” she asks.

He nods.

Oh.

“That’s stupid,” she says. “I didn’t sue anyone when Daphne died. They should be suing You-Know-Who, at least. Though I guess it’s still your personal fault, being a Death Eater, but you didn’t kill anyone.” She winces. “You didn’t kill anyone, right?”

“Of course not,” he says. He sounds like he’s dying.

“I’m just here ‘cause of my tax return,” she babbles on, desperate to make the whole situation a little less awkward. “Hey, you know Harry Potter?”

“Never heard of him,” Draco says drily.

“He works here now, so maybe we could sneak into his office and…” She trails off. “Never mind.” She needs a smoke. Now. “I’ll see you soon.”

People are staring at them darkly. She wants to punch them in the face.

“You know, even if you had killed someone I’d still – go to dinner with you,” she says. It’s true, as well, and a little scary.

He nods. “That’s – yeah.”

“See you on Saturday.”

“See you on Saturday,” he echoes. She feels him watch her as she walks away.

 

She goes to Quality Quidditch Supplies one day during her break. As she’s hoped, Sally-Anne is standing behind the till, smiling at her. “Astoria!” she says. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Astoria says, meaning it. “And you?”

“Great!” Sally-Anne says. “You’ll never guess what happened – I own this shop now!”

“Really?” Astoria asks. “You’re not kidding?”

Sally-Anne shakes her head, smiling. “I love it,” she says. “And even better, I’ve got this for you.” She hands Astoria an envelope. “I was going to send it by owl, but since you’re here anyway…”

Astoria tears open the envelope and takes out the card. “Oh, wow, congratulations!” she manages.

“It’s a Muggle wedding,” Sally-Anne says. “We like the style, and it’s easier, you know, what with both of us being women, and the Muggle family members, but I hope you’ll come anyway.”

“Of course I will,” Astoria says.

“Plus one, I assume?” Sally-Anne asks. “I’ve been talking to Pansy Parkinson, and she said you and Draco are still going strong. She didn’t even sound particularly jealous. Who knows what’s happened to her to make her let go of her obsession…”

Astoria narrows her eyes. “I remember when people didn’t know who I was. I miss not being the object of gossip.” She turns to leave.

Sally-Anne grins after her. “It’s Muggle fancy dress, don’t forget!” she calls. “And non-smoking premises!”

 

“Muggle fancy dress?” Draco asks. “You signed me up for a wedding with people who hate me, and it’s in Muggle fancy dress.”

“As though you’ve never worn a suit before,” Astoria says, rolling her eyes.

He sighs. “Alright,” he says. “But you have to pick the present, I’m rubbish at that.”

Astoria winks at him. “Don’t worry. I’m sure if we get them _Quidditch Through the Ages_ and _Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland_ plus a poster of the Cannons –“ She squeals and jumps out of his reach when he moves to poke her in the side.

Being in a relationship keeps growing on her.

 

The wedding is nice. Padma and Sally-Anne are practically glowing. Draco keeps pulling on his tie uncomfortably. Astoria hands him a glass of champagne and a piece of cake. “Come on,” she says. “We need to get tipsy, I want to dance.”

“You don’t like dancing, and neither do I,” he points out.

Astoria nods. “That’s why we have to get tipsy.”

“Right, good plan.”

“That’s right,” Astoria says. “Maybe the Hat was considering Ravenclaw when he wasn’t sure back in Hogwarts.”

“Let’s not overestimate you,” he teases.

She steals his cake.

Later, as they’re dancing cheek-to-cheek, which she likes even though it’s cheesy, Sally-Anne walks up to them. “Hey,” she says.

Astoria glares at her for interrupting them.

“Catch,” Sally-Anne says abruptly and throws the bouquet.

Astoria catches it out of pure reflex. She’s horrified, but that’s nothing to the look on Draco’s face.

Sally-Anne almost dies laughing.

“It doesn’t count,” Astoria says. “We had the bouquet-throw earlier.”

“That was Padma. I didn’t.”

“Does this mean what I think it means?” Draco asks, even paler than usual.

“It’s just a stupid tradition,” Astoria says.

“Thank Merlin for the champagne,” Draco says, but he’s smiling.

 

They have their first real, big fight when Draco tells her his parents want to meet her.

“You told them?” Astoria fumes.

“Yes,” he says, his cheeks slightly pink with agitation. “After we’ve been seeing each other for three years, I told them!”

“We didn’t talk about that –“

“It’s not like it was a secret –“

“And just so they can sit there and judge me!”

“They won’t judge – alright, maybe,” he admits. “But still, it would mean a lot to me.”

“Oh, great, so it doesn’t matter what it’d do to me,” Astoria says. She knows she’s being unfair now, but she doesn’t care. The truth is, she doesn’t want to meet Draco’s parents, ever, because she’s sure they’ll detest her, if not openly then at least behind her back.

“Do you think it was easy for me?” he asks. “It’s not like my parents are very supportive –“

“Yes, I’m sure you have a terrible life, being their spoilt little boy who doesn’t even work –“

“You know they’d want me to see someone who was –“

“What?” Astoria asks. “More beautiful? Richer? Of better breeding?” she spits out the words, because she knows they’re true. “I know what they say about the curse, you know. Greengrasses don’t birth healthy children. Greengrasses die young. There’s something wrong with our blood. Do your parents have a problem with that?”

“Well, yes,” he says, helpless.

Astoria hisses in anger. “Fine,” she says, stalking over to the door of her apartment and opening it for him in an unmistakable gesture of ‘get out’. “Find someone other than me, then!”

 

“Hey, Astoria!” someone calls.

Astoria whirls around. “Why does everyone always talk to me!” she says.

“It’s just me,” Pansy says. “I heard you and Draco had a fight.”

“Who’d you hear that from?” Astoria asks.

“Draco.”

Astoria feels jealousy surge up in her gut. Of course. Pansy must be fine by Draco’s parents.

“He misses you!” Pansy says.

“And you didn’t try to comfort him? You know, he can just go ahead and start dating you, because you guys deserve each other. I’ve had it!”

Pansy looks surprised. “No?” she says. “I’m seeing someone, anyway. You won’t believe it, he’s not even a pureblood. His paternal great-grandfather was Muggle-born, and I don’t care! I’m a new person! Don’t tell anyone, though,” she adds hurriedly, proving that this new person thing is apparently still in the works. Astoria’s head is starting to hurt, but Pansy is practically glowing with pride.

“That’s great, Pansy. And sorry,” Astoria says. “I’m pretty pissed off.”

“I can tell,” Pansy says.

“Can’t you tell me what to do?” Astoria asks, suddenly inspired. “You know Draco really well, you’re his friend.”

Pansy looks at her strangely. “No,” she says. “ _You_ know him really well. You really should be aware of that. You’re actually almost as smart as your sister was. But you’re even more annoying. I remember no one knowing you. Good times.”

“Good times,” Astoria agrees. Not being continuously sullen, silent and sneaky is quite taxing. Though it does have its advantages.

 

Once she’s calmed down enough to think rationally again, which takes a few days, she realises that she may have overreacted. She also realises that Draco isn’t going to do anything to get her back. He’s too much of a wuss, she knows that. She smiles fondly. She misses him, which is why she floos to Malfoy Manor.

She steps out of the fireplace coughing – she’s never been fond of flooing, too much soot.

She looks around the room interestedly – she has a feeling that, eventually, she’s going to live in this house, so she better find out what it’s like.

Only then does she notice Draco standing there and looking at her weirdly.

“Oh, hi,” she says.

“Hi,” he echoes. “Astoria.”

“Draco.”

His lips twitch. That’s a good sign.

“I’m sorry for shouting at you,” she says.

“I’m sorry for trying to put pressure on you.”

She shrugs. “Well, you know. Whatever. It’s fine. I just – your parents won’t accept me. So why meet them in the first place?”

He shrugs. “I – I – they are the only people who at least care what happens to me.”

“ _I_ care,” she says. “But I’ll meet them. After all, you did go to the wedding with me. In Muggle fancy-dress, on top of it.” She smirks and he pulls a face.

Then he hesitates. “Is it true?” he asks. She knows he’s talking about the curse. That stupid, bloody curse. “You don’t have to tell me –“

Astoria shrugs. “Daphne apparently skipped it, but then she died young anyway.” She grits her teeth. “I’ve just always been ill a lot. They used to tell me all the things I shouldn’t do. Play Quidditch, drink, run, get pregnant –“

He chokes. Astoria pats his back. “No worries,” she says. “I couldn’t care less about what the healers tell me. I run all the time.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he manages, but then he gives her a tour of the house, which isn’t as depressing as Astoria expected it to be.

He’s still a little pale, so she decides to change the topic. “So, what, you just sit around here all day reading?” she asks.

“Pretty much.” He shrugs.

“And you’ve never invited me before.” She pouts, but she knows he can tell she doesn’t really mind.

“Yeah, because it’s such a romantic atmosphere,” he says sarcastically, indicating various dark artefacts in glass cases.

“And my tiny one-bedroom flat in Diagon Alley is?”

He shrugs. “When you’re there, it’s not too bad.”

 

Two weeks later, she and Draco are standing outside Malfoy Manor.

“Okay,” she says. “No references to Muggles. No mentions of Harry Potter, You-Know-Who, Azkaban, the courts, history, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black unless those are full of praise…”

“Just say whatever you want,” Draco says with a smile, which is sweet. She knows he thinks she’s a much better person than she actually is, and sometimes she’s even ashamed of letting him believe it.

“I am trying not to start a fight,” she points out. “You know, four years ago, I would’ve been perfect for them. I was really good at sitting around quietly looking aloof.”

“And a kid,” he points out.

Astoria shrugs. “I’ve always been precocious…”

He makes a face, then the door is opened.

Draco’s parents look pretty intimidating. And very, very blonde.

“Hello,” Astoria says politely. She is a Greengrass, and she was raised properly.

“You must be the Greengrass girl,” Mrs Malfoy says then. “Is it Daphne?”

That stings.

“No,” Astoria says. “It’s Astoria. Daphne was my sister.”

“What a shame,” Mr Malfoy says. “I hear she was a very accomplished young lady.”

“She was,” Astoria says. Her throat is all scratchy. Undoubtedly, if Daphne were here in her place, they’d be looking much more friendly. Not that Daphne would have been in this exact situation, being into girls and all that.

“At least I’m a Slytherin,” Astoria bursts out. “It could be so much worse.”

The two look at her disdainfully, but Astoria can’t help but think that she’s making a solid point.

“Did you hear that Pansy Parkinson is marrying a half-blood?” she asks, exaggerating a little just for kicks. She remembers thinking that something was wrong with her when she was younger. Maybe she’s a psychopath who wants to give her boyfriend’s parents heart attacks. She should get it diagnosed. She fights down a giggle.

Luckily, at that moment, Draco appears to regain his composure. “Uh, Astoria, these are my parents, Lucius and Narcissa.”

“Nice meeting you,” Astoria tells Mr and Mrs Malfoy.

Mr Malfoy doesn’t say anything. Mrs Malfoy squeezes out a “likewise”.

Dinner is served by a house-elf, and Astoria tries not to say anything stupid, she really does, but the silence is so uncomfortable that eventually she tells the story of Daphne freeing their house-elf when she was little, and how mad their parents had been, and how they hadn’t eaten any warm meals for two weeks until they’d found a new one.

Draco laughs even though he’s already heard the story. Mr and Mrs Malfoy don’t.

“It’s strange, from what I’ve heard about your sister, and your family, I would have thought you had been raised better,” Mr Malfoy says.

Draco stiffens, though Astoria isn’t much offended. “Me, too,” she says.

That makes them stay quiet for a bit, and allows Astoria to enjoy her meal, which is really very good.

“Is it true?” Mrs Malfoy asks eventually. “About the curse?”

Astoria looks up. It’s one thing for Draco to ask, Draco who she’s been in love with for three years, who she’s slowly starting to share her life with. It’s something completely different for his parents to snoop around in her family history.

“I –“ she starts.

“Don’t, Astoria,” Draco says. “You don’t have to tell them anything.”

“If the survival of the Malfoy line rests on –“ Mr Malfoy says.

Draco interrupts him by getting up. “Then it’s not your problem, and actually, I don’t think it’s a problem for us, is it?”

“Not for me,” Astoria says. “No offense, but I don’t really care that much about the continuing survival of the Malfoy line, as you put it. Can I smoke in here?” She’s getting stressed, she can’t help it. No one answers her.

Mr Malfoy gets up, too.

“Let’s talk about this some other time,” Mrs Malfoy says.

“Yeah,” Astoria says. “This food is great, I could –“

“It’s my decision –“ Draco says.

“And mine,” Astoria throws in.

“And Astoria’s,” Draco continues seamlessly.

Astoria leans back to enjoy the show. She might as well now that it’s escalated.

“Draco, we just want what’s best for you,” Mr Malfoy says.

“That is kind of sweet,” Astoria points out.

The three of them look at her.

She clears her throat. “Right, uh, do go on.”

“And I don’t care what you think about Astoria, or the two of us together,” Draco says. “I don’t care, Father, so you might as well accept it now.”

Mr and Mrs Malfoy are pretty quiet.

Draco clears his throat.

The rest of the dinner is rather awkward, but Astoria doesn’t mind.

 

“They hate me,” Astoria says the next day. “They think I’m crazy and strange. Even more than I actually am.” Oh well. At least she has emotions now.

They’re sitting on her sofa, and Draco is telling her about the damage control he tried to do yesterday.

“They don’t hate you, they’re just not very fond…”

“Mhm.”

“I’m sure in time it’ll be alright,” he says. “It’s not like it matters.”

“How on earth is it not like it matters whether your parents like me or not?”

“It’s like I explained to them – several times – they don’t have to love you as long as I do –“

“And do you?”

“Of course I do,” he says.

“Good,” Astoria says. “I mean, I figured, what with you kind of shouting words to that effect at your parents during dinner, but it’s nice to hear it.” She’ll say it back eventually, she knows that he knows it, so it’s all fine.

“And I told them –“

But maybe it isn’t –

“That no matter what they think –“

Maybe she should say it now, anyway, because she does feel it, has for a while now.

“I love you, too,” she says. “But don’t quote me on it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of that,” he says, smiling.

“Sorry,” she says, feeling her face heat up. “What were you saying?”

“We had a bit of a fight, but they realise that I’m their only chance to ever have grandchildren to indoctrinate, so they pulled it together.”

Astoria snorts. “Lovely.” She’s not entirely sure Draco isn’t keeping some secret from her here, that it was more than ‘a bit of a fight’. She can’t imagine Lucius Malfoy acquiescing to his son’s demands just like that. She doesn’t press the issue, though.

“They’ll grow to like you, you’ll see.”

Astoria shrugs. “Fine,” she says. “If you say so.” She doubts it, but like he said, it’s not like it matters too much.

“I do,” he says. “But there’s a small problem.”

“They’ve disinherited you, Merlin,” Astoria says. “Bye-bye, then.”

He smiles again. “I told them I’m not going to live in our house for a while –“

“Oh, finally! Thank goodness.”

“So I need a place to stay.”

“The Leaky Cauldron –“ Astoria gasps and laughs when he pokes her in the side. “Fine, fine. But you have to take me out to dinner or pay rent. Either one.”

“Dinner,” he says easily. “And I’ll even buy you dessert.”

“How generous.” She laughs again.

“You’re really amazing when you laugh,” he says. “Not only when you laugh, obviously.”

“It’s not like that means much. I laugh, like, once a year. At the most.”

“Yeah. But when you do…”

“Oooh, compliments. I’m listening.”

“Anyway,” he says. “I decided to refrain from telling them that you’re not the type to get married anytime soon –“

“Definitely not.” At least she used to think that. But that’s another conversation for another time.

“I’m saving that for the next Christmas dinner. Our Christmas dinners are dreadfully boring, that’ll mix it up.”

“We could tell them I’m pregnant and we’re never getting married.”

“They’d die!”

“And you’d inherit!” She smirks.

He shakes his head, smiling. “How did I end up with you, again?”

She smiles back. “Cosmic retribution,” she says, sticking her tongue out at him.

 

“Maybe we _should_ get married,” he says one night. He grins and adds, “My parents will be shocked either way.”

Astoria looks up from her hair she’s currently braiding. It’s getting really long now, almost to her waist.

“I was just going to say, maybe I should cut off my hair,” she says. “Can we make one life-changing decision at a time?”

“Don’t cut it off,” he says. “It looks so nice.”

“If I did cut it off, would you still want to marry me?”

“No,” he says, throwing a pillow at her. “That’s why I waited to ask until it got this long.”

“How about this,” she says. “I don’t cut it, we get married, I finally quit smoking, and you prove your love by growing out _your_ hair. A ponytail would suit you!” She laughs.

“You’re terrible,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he minds.

“So are you,” Astoria points out.

“What a great coincidence,” Draco says drily. “It must be fate.”

Astoria laughs again. She doesn’t really remember at which point laughing stopped being something extraordinary and became something she did every day.

“It must be,” she says, even though Draco definitely doesn’t believe in fate, and neither does Astoria.

 

Their wedding is perfect, even though there’s not very many people there. The ones that are, however, are all important. Astoria can’t stop smiling, even though Mr and Mrs Malfoy are shooting her dark looks, Pansy’s had too much mead already, and Sally-Anne and Padma’s eldest it pulling at a tablecloth, a disaster waiting to happen.

The dance ends, but she holds onto Draco for another one. He has a strange look on his face, though. Astoria turns around and sees Mr Malfoy – well, she should be calling him Lucius now, probably – standing behind her. Oh great.

“I’ll see you in a bit,” Draco says, smiling slightly.

Astoria gives him a pleading, only half-joking look, but then turns her most charming smile on Mr – Lucius. “Hi,” she says.

He doesn’t say anything, just dances with her.

There’s a loud crash when Ottilia Perks-Patil manages to pull down the tablecloth. She starts to bawl and Sally-Anne and Padma rush over to where she is standing.

“You’re a better dancer than Draco,” she says after a while.

He doesn’t say anything.

The silence is extremely uncomfortable, so Astoria looks over Lucius’s shoulder to where Draco is standing next to Sally-Anne and Padma, handing Ottilia a biscuit to calm her down. He has that smile on his face that’s usually reserved for Astoria only.

The dance is nearly over, and Astoria is thanking Merlin for it, when Lucius suddenly says. “I don’t like you, and I wish my son wasn’t marrying you, but you make him happy. So, thank you.”

Astoria almost chokes. “Seriously?” she asks.

Lucius frowns at her.

“Sorry,” Astoria says. “All of that right back at you, by the way. Except for, you know, the marriage.”

He nods his head, the dance is over, and Astoria is standing in the middle of the dance floor, feeling like she’s seen everything now.

Draco comes back and pulls her into the next dance. Her feet are starting to hurt, but she does like dancing today for a change, and she doesn’t want this night to end.

“Draco?” she asks after a while.

“Mh?” he makes. He’s resting his cheek on her hair – she isn’t wearing heels just so she’s short enough to dance like that because she likes it – and they’re more swaying than properly dancing.

“You always say you don’t want children. Why?”

“I just don’t like them,” he says.

“I saw you give that biscuit to Ottilia,” she says. “And I think you’re lying to me and have been for a while.”

“And a biscuit is proof of that?” he asks. He moves to take a step back so they can look each other in the eye, but Astoria keeps him close. Some conversations are easier without seeing each other’s face.

“I think you do want children, eventually, and you say you don’t so I don’t.”

It’s a theory that’s been on her mind for a while, but she’s never said it out loud.

He’s silent for a while. Then, “I don’t think this is the time and place.”

“No, probably not,” she says. “But, you know, I do, too. Want children. Eventually.”

She hears him take a sharp breath.

“Some other time,” he says again.

“Some other time,” she agrees. It’s their wedding. They have a lot of time to talk about it later.

 

They’re only just back from the honeymoon a few days when Astoria has to ask.

She’s sitting on their bed, the article she is working on about the Puddlemere United transfers lying on her nightstand.

“Remember our wedding?” she asks.

“Of course,” Draco says.

“Remember when I said I think you’ve been lying to me?”

“Yes,” he says softly. “I do.”

“Was I right?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says.

“Do you want children?” she asks.

He looks at her. “If I said yes,” he says. “What would it change?”

“Everything,” she says, getting up. “I said I want them, too. We could have children, and they’d be so beautiful, and we’d love them so much. We could move into your parents’ house, it’s big enough so we won’t run into them too often.”

He laughs, but then his face falls. “Astoria,” he says. “We can’t. You aren’t always well enough. And you know I don’t care about the bloodline –”

She angrily blows a stray lock of hair out of her face. “I know, and I told you, I don’t think the healers have that whole thing right,” she lies.

“Astoria –“

She kisses him. “Please, Draco,” she whispers. “Please.” Another kiss. This is unfair, and wrong, she knows it. She knows he’ll give her everything, but how could she keep him from having kids if he wants to, and she wants to as well?

“We could –“ _Adopt_ , he doesn’t say. They both know that with his past, they’ll never be approved.

“Please,” she whispers. “At least think about it. I’m fine, I swear. It would be amazing, having a family.”

It would be, she can see it. Her, and Draco, and two or three children. They’d have both boys and girls, and they’d play with them all day, in the huge gardens outside Malfoy Manor, and surely even Lucius and Narcissa would love them, and they’d all be so happy.

“I’ll stop smoking for good,” she promises, as she often has, and he cracks a smile.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll think about it.”

 

It takes her a lot of convincing to even make him consider agreeing. Eventually, they’re seeing a healer, who looks at them strictly across his desk. Astoria’s never liked St Mungo’s, not since she was little and had to spend birthdays and Christmases there.

“I’m going to be honest with you,” the healer says. “There is a chance that, if you were to bear a child, you would be severely weakened or even at risk of dying in childbirth.”

Draco turns paler than usual and grabs Astoria’s hand.

Astoria glares at the healer. “But that chance is almost non-existent, isn’t it?” she asks.

“Well, it’s not too likely,” he says. “We do have a lot of spells and potions to ensure that doesn’t happen. But there is a definite risk.”

“Astoria,” Draco murmurs. “We can’t.”

“I’m fine!” she says again, tears welling up in her eyes. She hates that no one believes her. “I feel great, Draco, I’m not lying!” She’s going to be okay, she knows it. “And it’s not like childbirth is ever easy, is it?”

“No,” the healer agrees.

Draco sighs. “Let’s get some fresh air,” he says.

They nod their goodbyes to the healer and walk along Diagon Alley, getting ice cream at Fortescue’s.

“Draco, please,” Astoria says. “We both want a baby, I feel good, and that stupid curse isn’t even a thing. I haven’t been ill in ages.”

“I know,” he says. “I know you haven’t. But I love you, if anything happened –“

“Nothing is going to happen to me, except that I’m going to be very happy,” she says decisively.

He searches her face, then nods, then kisses her.

 

She wakes up in the middle of the night with what feels like cramps. Oh no, she thinks, shaking Draco’s shoulder.

He sits up immediately. “Astoria? Is everything alright?”

“I think we need to go to the hospital,” she says.

“Are you ill?” He sounds close to panicking.

“I’m in labour, I think,” Astoria says dryly.

The next ten hours she doesn’t remember clearly. She remembers pain, more pain than she’s ever experienced in her life, and Draco by her side, and wishing Daphne were here.

Finally, she’s exhausted and nearly asleep and holding their baby, their son.

“Scorpius?” she whispers.

Draco strokes her hair and nods. They’d agreed beforehand that Scorpius was nice, if unusual, but that they would need to see if it fit the baby.

“He’s got your eyes,” she says.

Draco nods again. He doesn’t say anything, but he holds her hand until she falls asleep.

 

She doesn’t feel well after.

“It was close,” the healer says.

“Close to what?” Astoria asks impatiently, even though she knows. She couldn’t get up for weeks after, after all, still hardly can, and she’s lost a lot of weight, and she remembers people rushing around her and giving her an assortment of potions in a hurry. She was out of it, but not so out of it that she didn’t notice something bad was going on.

“You could have died,” he says.

“Well, I didn’t,” Astoria says, because Draco is looking utterly horrified, and she doesn’t like it when people make Draco feel bad. “I’m fine, and we have a beautiful son.”

“I strongly advise you to not have any more children,” the healer says seriously.

“Why?” Draco asks. His voice is raspy, and Astoria knows that they both know the answer before the healer gives it.

“You probably wouldn’t survive it.”

 

She can tell Draco blames himself.

“Stop it,” she says to him. “I wanted to have a baby, and he’s amazing, and I don’t regret it for a second. I never will.”

“You could’ve died,” he says. His lips are almost white.

“We’ve been through this,” she says. “I’m better now.” Even though, of course, they can both tell that she isn’t. She’s been taking her potions and eating well, but she hasn’t been gaining weight, and she can’t breastfeed, and she still spends most of the day sleeping. But in time, it’ll get better. She’s always been skinny, and she’s always felt cold a lot, it’s all normal.

He hugs her, kisses her hair. “We won’t have another one,” he says.

“No,” she agrees.

She can tell he’s heartbroken, too, but they have each other, and now they have Scorpius, and that’s more than enough.

 

Lucius and Narcissa are delighted, of course. Partly because the bloodline’s saved, but, Astoria thinks, partly because Draco is happy and they genuinely like Scorpius.

How could they not, she thinks, because Scorpius is amazing, beautiful, and already so smart. He runs around the Manor with his chubby little legs, and plays with the peacocks in the garden, and tries out speaking his first words.

Astoria is proud of him, and she knows Draco is, too. She’s been working less, and they spend most of the day together, playing with Scorpius, or going for walks, and it’s perfect, it’s everything she wants.

She’s doing alright as well, there’s a few more potions she has to take now, though she suspects they don’t really do anything. But every time she sees Draco whirl a delighted Scorpius through the air, she thinks that if anything is going to make her better, it’s her family.

 

When Scorpius is four, and Astoria starts to stop working from home and going out more, she hears the rumour.

She laughs incredulously the first time she hears it, looking at Pansy, who’s related it to her, in disbelief.

“I know,” Pansy says. “It’s the stupidest thing I ever heard.”

“It is,” Astoria agrees. “How long’s that been going around?”

Pansy hesitates. “He didn’t want to tell you,” she says. “I mean, he did, but you were so unwell.”

Astoria sighs. She loves Draco so much, but she’s been doing better, and she doesn’t always want to be protected. In that regard, he’s a lot like Daphne was.

 

“I’m sorry, Astoria,” he says. “It’s just – how people can even say, much less believe, something like that – I didn’t want to upset you –“

“It’s not like I’m upset,” she says, because she really isn’t. Maybe that’s left over from when she was little, when she hardly ever felt anything, least of all offense.

“I can’t believe people are being so stupid,” Draco reiterates.

“Has anyone been talking to you about it?” she asks.

He looks down. “No, hardly ever,” he says.

“I’m gonna kill whoever gives you trouble, you know that,” she says, crossing her arms.

Draco looks at her. She’s half-sitting, half-lying on the sofa, wrapped in two blankets, skinnier than ever and she hasn’t been able to keep food down in days. This is ‘better’. “I love you,” he says. “You’re the bravest person I know.”

“And you once kicked Harry Potter in the nose,” she jokes. “I love you, too, you know. And I mean it. I won’t let them be cold to you. Well, colder than they already are. Bastards.”

She shakes her head. Her hair flies. She hasn’t cut it in a while, but it’s not as shiny as it used to be.

 

On her thirtieth birthday, Draco and Scorpius are going to pick her up from work and they’ll all have ice cream together. At least that’s the plan until she wakes up in St Mungo’s.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

Draco is sitting by her bed. He looks worried.

“Where’s Scorpius?” she asks.

Scorpius comes out from behind Draco’s back. “Mum?” he asks. “Are you ill?”

She exchanges a glance with Draco.

The nurses and healers are staring at them, and she can almost hear them repeat the rumour, whispering to each other. It’s the most ridiculous thing in the world, what with Scorpius looking just like Draco, and Astoria not having slept with Voldemort, ever. The thought alone is disgusting.

She glowers at a couple of nurses until they scram.

“Scorpius,” she says. “Go upstairs and find the café, will you? Get yourself and your dad some sweets.”

“Sweets, they help you make friends?” Scorpius sings quietly.

Astoria smiles at him. “Exactly.”

Once Scorpius has left she looks at Draco. “What happened?”

“When Scorpius and I got to your office to pick you up, you were unconscious,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“It’s not –“

“For making you worry about me.” She sits up. “Let’s go home.”

He shakes his head. “They want to keep you for observation for another day at least,” he says quietly. He sounds close to tears.

“Draco,” she says. “I’m fine. Except I want a smoke. But I assume they won’t let me.”

“But you’re _not_ fine,” he says. “And it’s my fault.”

“It’s the fault of whatever git cursed my ancestor,” she says. “Not yours.”

“If I hadn’t relented on not having children –“

“I might be the exact same. I’ve been ill before, remember?”

He nods. “I know,” he says. “Still.”

She kisses him. “Take Scorpius home. I’ll be fine here. And when I get back home, we’ll all go on a fun trip or something, alright?”

He looks at her, then looks around furtively and quickly hands her a cigarette.

Yeah, Astoria thinks. No matter what people like to say, she definitely married well.

 

When she gets home, Scorpius throws himself into her arms. “Mum!” he cries.

Draco hugs her tightly but carefully.

“Dad said we’d go on a trip,” Scorpius says excitedly.

“I said, if your mum is well enough,” Draco corrects him gently, ruffling his hair.

Astoria smiles at them. “And I am well enough,” she says. “Where do we want to go?”

They decide on Cornwall and spend a wonderful week at the seaside, going for walks and building sandcastles with Scorpius even though it is still quite cold.

“Oh, look!” Scorpius calls. He’s started collecting little stones and pebbles, and has spotted another one. He runs to pick it up.

Astoria smiles at Draco. “He’s something, isn’t he?” She can’t believe she’s turned into a sappy mother who thinks her son is the greatest child in the world. Though obviously, Scorpius really _is_ the greatest child in the world.

Draco nods. “He gets it from you.”

She smiles and leans her head against his shoulder, digging her toes into the sand.

Every day should be like this.

“We could buy a house down here,” he says. “And live by the beach.”

She laughs. “And what about the Manor?”

He shrugs. “I don’t care.”

She shakes her head. “It’s grown on me, you know. And it does get very windy around here.”

“That’s true,” he says with a smile. “It does.”

 

“That’s rubbish!” Scorpius says when they sit him down to talk about the rumour.

“Exactly,” Astoria agrees. “I mean, he was, like, old, and really ugly. And – he didn’t have a nose. Just – no nose. At all.”

“Which was everybody’s greatest issue with him, obviously,” Draco says.

“Well, you know what I mean,” Astoria says. “I can’t imagine anybody would have –“

“What?” Scorpius asks innocently.

“Nothing,” Draco hurries to tell him, but he’s grinning. “Let’s go to Fortescue’s, shall we?”

 

Shortly before Scorpius is to go to Hogwarts, she has to quit her job.

She’s crying. Thankfully Scorpius is playing outside and not here to see her like this. It’s bad enough he has to see her ill, he doesn’t have to witness her having a breakdown. She doesn’t remember ever having cried in her life. It isn’t fun.

Draco is lovely, just sitting with her and being quiet as she cries and cries. These days, she can feel the energy seep from her body as though a dementor is following her every move, and instead of taking away her happiness, it’s taking her strength. The upside is, she really has quit smoking now because even the thought of cigarettes makes her feel sick.

Already crying has tired her out so much that she could just go to sleep right here and now.

“It’s four o’clock,” she sobs. She doesn’t want to be tired at four.

Draco holds her close and says nothing.

“I don’t want to die,” she whispers. She doesn’t. She has so much to live for.

Draco’s arms tighten around her. “You’re not dying,” he says. “Ever.” His tone allows for no discussion.

“Okay, then,” she says, laughing through her tears. “I won’t.”

He kisses first her forehead, then her lips. “Good that that’s sorted,” he says.

 

“You look awful, Astoria,” Pansy says.

They’re in Diagon Alley, having a firewhisky, even though it’s only eleven in the morning. Oh well. Astoria’s glad to see Pansy. She’s not nice, but she doesn’t have that look of pity in her eyes that everyone else does – Sally-Anne, Padma – well, actually, that’s all her friends.

“I know,” Astoria says. “Draco’s not taking it very well.”

“I shouldn’t think he is,” Pansy says. “He’ll be devastated when you die.”

 _When you die_. No one’s said to her this clearly that this is what’s going to happen, and soon. Everybody knows, of course.

Pansy clears her throat. “Uh,” she says. “How long…” She trails off. Even for Pansy, that’s a pretty insensitive question. Astoria’s glad to be asked, instead of having to dance around the issue like usually.

“A couple of years,” she says. “Maybe three or four, but that’s about it.” Personally, she doesn’t feel like it’s going to be that long.

“Merlin,” Pansy says. “How is your family not falling apart? I nearly filed for divorce when my owl died.”

Astoria laughs drily. “When you’re dying, you don’t have to compromise on anything.”

“You’ve never had to, with Draco,” Pansy points out. “He thinks you’re some kind of saint.”

“No matter how hard I try to convince him otherwise.” Astoria takes a sip of her drink and shakes her head.

“I have to ask you for something,” she says eventually.

“Ugh, great, okay,” Pansy says.

Astoria smiles. “Can you take care of my funeral? Draco won’t be able to.” She clears her throat. She’s not going to cry. Draco and Scorpius will be fine.

“Sure,” Pansy says. “I will.”

“Thanks.”

“No bother.”

Astoria leans back in her chair and looks at Pansy. She figures Pansy might actually be a little sad when Astoria dies. It’s not too bad an image, and she allows herself another smile.

 

“I have a best mate,” Scorpius announces proudly at Christmas. He’d indicated it in his letters, and Astoria had been relieved. She and Draco had decided not to push him to tell them everything about his time at Hogwarts. They’d known he’d open up eventually. Scorpius is a fairly quiet child, after all.

“That’s great, who is it?”

“Albus Potter,” he says happily.

Draco chokes on his pumpkin pasty. Astoria starts to laugh.

“What is it? You’re fine with it, aren’t you?” Scorpius asks, worried.

“Of course we are,” Astoria says. Draco’s still coughing.

“He’s in Slytherin,” Scorpius says. “But I don’t think he likes it as much as I do.”

Astoria knows that, of course. It had been all over the newspapers. The poor boy.

“Listen, Scorpius,” Astoria says. “It must be tough for him to be in Slytherin. So he’ll need your help, see?”

“Why?”

“You’re his friend. You’re fine with being in Slytherin. So you have to help him accept it and get on, alright?”

Scorpius nods. “I will,” he says. “I promise. Are you okay, Dad?” he adds.

“Yes,” Draco says. “Yes, I’m fine. That’s great, Scorpius. Thank God my parents aren’t alive to see this,” he adds more quietly.

Astoria smirks into her napkin and pats his hand.

 

One day in the summer they take Scorpius to Daphne’s grave. Draco sits down on a bench a little bit away while Scorpius and Astoria walk over to where Daphne lies buried.

“Was she nice?” Scorpius asks, even though Astoria’s told him loads about Daphne.

“Yeah,” Astoria says. “Very nice.” She laughs a little. She finds it hard to put Daphne in words – how she was brave, at least for a Slytherin, and pretty, and clever, and a little too emotional and how she cried a lot but also smiled a lot. How she probably felt more in her eighteen years of life than Astoria will, ever, not matter how long she lives.

Scorpius bites his lip and looks at Daphne’s tombstone. “She never got married.”

“She didn’t want to, I think,” Astoria says. “She used to be in love with Padma, Ottilia’s mum, when they were at Hogwarts.”

Scorpius looks up at her, surprised. “Oh,” he says. “I didn’t know that.”

They’re silent for a while. Then he says, “You married Dad.”

“Yes,” Astoria says.

“Because you were in love with him?”

“I still am,” Astoria says. She looks over to where Draco is sitting in the shade. He understands that she wanted to take Scorpius alone to meet Daphne, so he’s waiting over there. It makes her feel warmer, even though this summer is rainy and grey.

“People sometimes say that I’m a lot like Dad,” Scorpius says quietly.

“You’re not,” Astoria says, because even though Scorpius looks exactly like Draco, their personalities aren’t very alike. “But even if you were, would that be a bad thing?”

“I don’t know,” Scorpius says. He sounds helpless.

Astoria kneels down in front of him and looks him in the eyes. “Listen to me. All throughout your life people will tell you that you take after your father and they will believe that to be a bad thing. But, you believe me now, when I say to you that you take after your father it is one of the greatest compliments I can make.”

He nods. She knows he doesn’t understand what she’s said, but eventually, he will.

 

Astoria dies on a Monday. She’s always disliked Mondays.

It’s strange to know it’s happening, strange to feel the last of her strength leave her body, to know she’ll never wake up again, never go to sleep again, never watch Scorpius read in the living room, go for a walk with Draco, have ice cream, wake up from nightmares of Daphne’s death.

“I’m going to miss Pansy,” she says. She can’t believe she’s thinking of Pansy Parkinson, of all people, as she’s dying.

“Mum?” Scorpius asks. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Astoria says. “Hand me the potion, will you?”

“Which one?” he whispers.

“Any one.” They’re all the same now – just there to reduce the pain, not to actually heal her.

Draco isn’t saying anything. Typical. She rolls her eyes.

“Scorpius,” she says. “Why don’t you go outside? The weather’s so nice.”

“You’re dying,” he says, staring at her like she’s gone mad.

Draco winces.

“And I don’t want you to see it,” Astoria says.

“But –“

“Thestrals are creepy. I don’t want you to have to look at them all the time at Hogwarts.”

Scorpius sniffles. He is taking after Draco, in the end, being a bit of a wuss, she thinks fondly.

He hugs her – he’s got so tall. “You’re the best son I could have asked for,” she says. “Knock ‘em dead, okay?”

“I will,” he says, wiping his eyes and leaving.

“You shouldn’t have sent him away,” Draco says.

“I saw Daphne dead. You know I still dream of that. I don’t want him to see me like that.”

“It would be different.”

She shrugs. It’s difficult, she can barely move, she’s always so exhausted. “It’ll be quick now,” she says.

“No,” Draco says. “No, Astoria –“

“How awkward would it be if I hung around for ages now after my well-thought out parting words?”

He sobs.

“You haven’t heard them yet.”

“I know,” he breathes. “I don’t want to.”

“They’re really wise.”

“Go on, then.”

She nods absentmindedly. She can’t get her voice above a whisper, but she knows he’s listening.

“Considering we met for the first time in a cupboard during a battle and you put me in a chokehold and I bit you, I think the two of us got it together quite well eventually, don’t you?”

He smiles, tears still running down his cheeks. “Yeah,” he says. “I think we did extremely well.”

She leans up slightly until he gets it and bends down to let her kiss his cheek, then his lips. She moves her mouth to his ear and whispers, “That’s good to know.”

He laughs trough his tears, shaking his head. “You know, my life used to be really – not nice. And then –“

“Then what?” she says, smiling.

“Enter Astoria, I guess.”

“I like declarations of love,” she says. “They make me feel so special.”

“I can’t believe you,” he says. He’s smiling too. He hesitates.

“Say it,” she says.

“You’re terrible,” he says, smiling a little wider.

“So are you,” she says.

“What a coincidence,” he says, his voice dry and slightly ironic as it used to be when they were younger.

Astoria smiles again even though her every bone hurts, breathing is hard, and she can hardly keep her eyes open.

It’s just that she’s terribly happy.


End file.
